


everything's relative when it comes to love

by SSAerial



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Season/Series 01, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, i am so screwed, i wrote this in one day, this is the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written in my life, this ship is going to kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSAerial/pseuds/SSAerial
Summary: What he half-expected was to see his father on the other side. He expected peace like Penny promised because even with their rocky, somewhat antagonistic relationship, Quentin trusted him.So he was not prepared whatsoever when he found himself in the middle of a dreadfully familiar courtyard that triggered so many tumultuous feelings that Quentin was getting emotional whiplash.He frantically whirled around to take in the full scope of the situation before stumbling when he abruptly felt an unexpected weight smack his leg. Looking down, he realized he was carrying an honest to God messenger bag he hasn’t used in eons.“What in the actual f-”“Quentin Coldwater?”Quentin froze in place. Because this could not be happening.





	everything's relative when it comes to love

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first, I got into this show on Thursday. I literally spent the entire weekend binge-watching this show in one freaking go and I never fell for a ship so hard. This has literally never happened before, but god, this _ship_. And just when I declared my undying love for this ship (I'm not even exaggerating, good god), I find out Quentin _dies._ So, well, let's just say I literally just boarded a ship that sank the moment I touched it. To say I'm upset is an understatement here. So this is me, venting, wishing for closure. And I will probably be haunting this fandom for a really long time, hoping it will heal my hurt just a little.
> 
> Anyway, my rant is over and I hope you enjoy this fic and it helps you try and accept the finale! And please forgive me if I characterized them wrong, since I just watched the show. Reviews are appreciated!

Quentin took a deep breath and went through the archway.

He was ready.

What he half-expected was to see his father on the other side. He expected peace like Penny promised because even with their rocky, somewhat antagonistic relationship, Quentin trusted him.

So he was not prepared whatsoever when he found himself in the middle of a dreadfully familiar courtyard that triggered so many tumultuous feelings that Quentin was getting emotional whiplash.

He frantically whirled around to take in the full scope of the situation before stumbling when he abruptly felt an unexpected weight smack his leg. Looking down, he realized he was carrying an honest to God messenger bag he hasn’t used in eons.

“What in the actual f-”

“Quentin Coldwater?”

Quentin froze in place. Because this could not be happening.

Almost scared to look, Quentin slowly turned his body around to see Eliot _fucking_ Waugh sitting casually on top of the stone sign that said BRAKEBILLS in bold damning letters, leaving no room to doubt. Quentin stared at him, dumbfounded.

What the _fuck_.

Eliot sighed, looking supremely bored. He gracefully vaulted off the marble, a cat in human form. He prowled up to him, eyeing Quentin up and down with facile interest while Quentin reeled at the fact Eliot was really _here_.

“I’m Eliot.” Quentin’s heart leapt, screaming _I know_. “You’re late. Follow me.” He proceeded to briskly walk off and it left Quentin scrambling.

“You-what,” Quentin struggled to respond, to grasp the situation at hand over the litany of _whatthefuckityfuck_ running through his screwed up brain. “Where am I?” he finally blurted out more as a question to himself because this certainly wasn’t fucking Kansas anymore. Or the Underworld. What the actual _fuck_ Penny?

Was this some kind of test? Some replay of Quentin’s memories so he could, what, reflect on his death? He thought he already did that by watching his friends mourn for him. _God_ , hasn’t he done enough?

Oblivious, or just programmed to follow the script if this really was a memory, Eliot replied without looking back, “Upstate New York.”

Okay, time to cut the bullshit.

“Eliot, _what is going on?”_ Quentin demanded. “What is this? Are you-Are you real?”

His voice cracked, he couldn’t help it. Eliot stopped in his tracks to look back at him, his expression showing no recognition at all.

“To answer in order, this is Brakebills University. You've been offered a preliminary exam for entry into the graduate program. As for me being real,” Eliot’s lips curled into that familiar, sly way of his that indicated he found what someone said stupid and wanted to give them shit for it. “You _wish_ you could invent me. _I_ invented me.”

It was the most Eliot answer Quentin has heard in a long, long time.

And it definitely crumbled Quentin’s belief that this was all a memory. He’d forgotten, or more like buried Eliot somewhere he wouldn’t think about him just so he could survive the monster. Constantly comparing the monster to Eliot had exhausted him, drained his soul. It was out of self-preservation Quentin had tried his best to ignore that instinct, to stop imagining what the real Eliot would have said or done and instead focus on bringing him back.

But this, whatever this was, was a punch in the gut. This was a version he hasn’t seen of Eliot in _years_.

The lack of bristles Quentin personally thought made him look more roguishly handsome, the immaculate white clothes that would’ve been sullied in minutes in Fillory. That damn styled hair which hasn’t made an appearance since season one of their chaotic lives.

It was miles away from the sleepless, t-shirt wearing monster Quentin last saw of him that was for sure.

Even though it wasn’t the Eliot Quentin most wanted to see, he looked put together and so _Eliot_ that it made Quentin want to cry. This was the man he knew, not the monster who possessed him for months, soiling Quentin’s memories of the real Eliot that he wanted to scream until he killed his own voice.

But then, if this wasn’t a memory, was this _real?_ Was this time travel or some alternate universe shit he would have to decipher all the differences of?

Quentin resisted the urge to collapse right there on this fake/real grass and just, lay there. Jesus Christ, he could never catch a break, could he?

So here he was, years in the past of Timeline who-the-fuck-knows, meeting this younger version of Eliot who was still different shades of broken, oblivious to what is to come and what they would go through together.

What would it mean, if he changed that? Quentin knew he should be careful, should figure out what was going on and when and where he exactly was.

This thought was immediately swept away though when Eliot started to walk away, clearly expecting Quentin to follow, like he would do anything else. It was illogical, how much the image of Eliot turning his back on him flared panic inside Quentin. At the idea that Eliot was leaving him. _Again_.

He stopped caring about the logistics. He didn’t care he still might be dead and this was just a rerun of his life. He didn’t care if he was possibly screwing up the intricate designs of time and space. It can go fuck itself.

So he called out a strong, “Hey,” that came out far more confident than Quentin Coldwater was ever known for. The moment Eliot turned around, Quentin went for it.

He marched up to him until he could slide his fingers into those fashioned curls and pulled him downward, movement unthinking and so damn _easy_. It was the easiest thing in the world, basic as breathing to kiss the living daylights out of the man he loved, and always will.

Quentin could feel Eliot go rigid from absolute shock, something that almost made Quentin want to grin into those lips. It felt like a victory to catch the man so off guard with how many walls he’s built for himself. He was a king of a castle long before Fillory came into the picture. But it would mean ruining the moment which wouldn’t do at all. So he kept kissing him, impatient for the taller man to get with the program and do his share of the work.

Let it be said that Eliot Waugh was the adaptable sort and was quick to catch on. Quentin could feel the shift as Eliot started hungrily kissing back, devouring Quentin’s will, his heart, everything.

Hazily, Quentin wondered if Eliot’s ever been a recipient instead of initiator of such out-of-the-blue kissing sessions with strangers, and decided it didn’t matter. Because Quentin was going to blow those past experiences out of the water.

It felt like an eternity before they broke apart for air, Quentin eyes immediately flitting upwards to watch the way Eliot’s eyes fluttered open dazedly, looking properly wrecked. The stupid hair was wild as Quentin’s heart and he took a bit of pride in that. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight and rested his forehead on Eliot’s, simply living in the moment. He knew the peace would be broken the second Eliot processed what just happened, but Quentin would take what he could get. He felt grounded for the first time in forever, since before Eliot’s possession. He _needed_ this.

“So.” Eliot visibly was building himself back up again, doing his best to compose himself. Quentin had to bite his lip to prevent himself from laughing out his pure adoration for this man. It did not go unnoticed as Eliot automatically traced the action, thoroughly distracted. It was pretty flattering, Quentin’s not gonna lie.

“So.” Quentin repeated, amused. It felt like old times, a reenactment of their usual greetings where they repeated themselves until they got their shit together to say more.

Eliot cleared his throat and finally backed away, looking reluctant to do so. Quentin immediately felt cold at the lack of body heat, of Eliot.

“While I know I’m irresistible and have been propositioned many times over,” there he went, trying to diminish what they both felt was something profoundly important. Quentin felt a pang reverberate his chest, a mix of fond and bitter. “This feels more like a Crazy, Stupid, Love moment. Seriously, do we know each other?”

He could say _we were best friends and something like lovers in another life where we were willing to die and kill for one another._ Or _we were a family for fifty years and raised a son together and it was the best years of my life._ Or _I’m from a future where you risked jeopardizing the world by trying to kill a god-feared monster instead of letting me go_. Or _someone who will love you until the day they die and afterwards, literally._

Quentin instead tried to smile at Eliot, trying to be brave.

“You could say that.”

Eliot eyed him, curiosity and wariness wavering in those dark eyes. It was startling to realize just how clearly Quentin could read him now. In his first year, Eliot had been a mysterious figure full of grand gestures and a flair for dramatics. Insubstantial in how little he understood the older man back then.

Now, he was practically an open book, not knowing just how well Quentin actually _knew_ him.

Quentin didn’t know what was going on or the repercussions of his rash actions, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He waited so long to see Eliot, he couldn’t not tell or at least want to show Eliot he was loved, especially this version of him who didn’t believe it was possible.

It didn’t matter if Eliot chose him in the end. He was used to carrying this weight in his chest that was both aching yet precious. He just wanted Eliot to be happy, with or without him.

So Quentin smiled at Eliot, hoping he could get through to him just how much he loved him. From the way Eliot’s eyes widened with awe and stunned bewilderment, he was pretty sure he got the message.

“You were going to lead me somewhere?” Quentin prodded gently, snapping Eliot out of it. Swallowing hard, he managed to roughly get out a “Follow me,” and refused to look at him as he tautly strode away.

Letting out a small laugh, Quentin trailed right behind him, feeling like for once things were going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> This literally took one day to write. I can't bring myself to regret it. Also, this is honest to god the first time I've ever written a kiss scene ever and I got so much second-hand embarrassment, I don't know why. I'm really not used to writing romance, but this ship is _worth it._


End file.
